


Heat

by Vita_S_West



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Cute, F/M, Office, office sexual tension, some sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 16:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_S_West/pseuds/Vita_S_West
Summary: Pining: Hawkeye is having a tough time on a hot day. Mustang isn't making it any easier.





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my slightly delay, but still contribution to Royai Week 2018, day two! I hope you enjoy :)

There is something both frustrating and tantalizing about the distance between their desks. Hawkeye can look up and see the Colonel at any time during the day, but it’s like those fancy stores in west side of Central City. She can look, but she absolutely can’t touch.

Besides, she has other things to do during the day, mainly her job. So, has he, but he is much less likely than she is to do it. Or, at least, to do it in a manner that may be mistaken for timely. Considering this, it’s more likely she’ll be doing one and a half jobs just to keep him on track.

Normally she could manage, but today… with the heat and the humidity and that stupid pen hanging out of Mustang’s mouth she’s having trouble concentrating. As he sits back in his chair, he flips through a folder. The overhead fan pushes a gentle breeze through his hair, making it dance. His top buttons are undone to accommodate the heat. She can hear his foot tapping under the desk over the whirring of the fan and Havoc’s occasional groans. And that stupid pen dangles from his lips.

Her eyes keep drifting to it, agonizingly. Each time she tries to concentrate on alphabetizing or coordinates or geographic elevation, she only gets so far before she has to look up again and stare at his mouth. _He could be doing so many better things with it_ , she muses idly.

Hawkeye catches herself and sits up abruptly. She is supposed to be examining the outskirts of Central City for an adequate hiding spots in its natural geographic terrain. _It’s the heat_ , she decides. It’s making her lazy and slow-witted. It’s making her think she wants to be kissing him, when really, she would rather find out if any of the hills could conceivably be hollowed out and hide fugitives. That’s what she cares about, she tells herself. Not Roy Mustang, his stupid hair, or his perfectly shaped, stupid mouth.

“Everything all right, Lieutenant?” he calls over. His voice is languid, slowed nearly to a drawl. He’s as hot as she is.

Her back stiffens and she has to fight to keep her composure. “Yes, sir. I was just going to go down to records and get another map.”

“Ah,” he says, his eyes drifting back to his file. Now that she’s said it, she actually has to go. At least the basement will be cooler than the office she tells herself.

***

Hawkeye spends the remainder of the afternoon in the map section of the basement archives. She tells the head archivist that she is escaping from the heavy and awful heat upstairs, but really it’s so she can get some work done without covertly staring at the pen in the Colonel’s mouth. Since when does he have an oral fixation?

Realistically, she realizes as she heads back upstairs at the end of the day that it’s _her_ with the oral fixation.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” the Colonel says the second she crosses the threshold. She stops. “I’ve been wondering when you’d wander back.”

He’s still leaning back in his chair, the fan is still going, and his hair is still waving slightly. She hates how much she likes the sight of him. She is grateful for the heat, she quickly realizes. It is a good cover her blush.

“I needed more maps, sir,” she says.

His eyebrows go up. He can tell she’s lying. Maybe he can tell the blush isn’t from the heat.

“And the basement is much cooler,” she says and this isn’t entirely a lie.

It’s a relief when he nods. His eyes drift back to his desk, so she goes to hers. She can’t exactly say “I’ve been thinking about ripping that stupid pen out of your mouth, kissing you hard, messing up your already stupid messy hair all day,” after all.

Havoc’s already gone and everyone else is packing up. She still has to clean up her desk, and one glance at the Colonel tells her he doesn’t seem to plan on moving.

She sighs and moves to his desk. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

It’s dangerous to stand this close to him, even with the desk separating them. No matter how hot the office is, she can’t blame all of the heat on the weather. Some of it is coming from him, or rather, the effect of the sight of him on her.

“Hm?” he says. He can’t actually be in the middle of something. He’s much too unhurried.

“It’s the end of the day. Is… do you need help finishing something up, sir?”

There’s a silence as he glances behind her. His posture is languid, but his eyes are sharp. The office door shuts and she realizes they’re alone now. Fuery just left.

His eyes shift back to her face. “I managed to finish everything without you staring at me all day.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“I thought I had something on my face. But you must have seen something you liked.” What she could only describe as a shit-eating grin spreads across his features and it’s all she can do to keep from smacking him. Or kissing him.

“It must have been your ego, sir,” she insists.

His smile slips slightly before he says, “There are a few things you could help me with.”

“Such as?”

He leans forward in his chair. “Best to save it for the car ride home.”

“In this heat?” she says.

“I have a nice window we can open at my place,” he offers. “And a cold beer.”

“Just the one?”

“Well, if you’re planning on staying, two cold beers.”

“That would be against regulation, sir.”

“That’s why I suggested the car first.”

“And that would be against my standards.”

What’s left of his smile falls clean off his face. “Now you’re just being mean to me.”

“Never, sir. It’s just the heat and the sweat making you irritable.”

He leans across the desk, resting his chin in his hand. “I’d like a different kind of sweat and heat to make me _less_ irritable.”

“This isn’t the best place to have this conversation.”

“We better get to the car then.”

“If you insist.”

“And you don’t?” he asks and there's a sliver of doubt that she can see start to formulate.

For the first time during their exchange, she smiles, a slow smile. She insists very much, thinking, after all, of several better things he could do with that smart mouth of his.


End file.
